Dark Coffee
by AliiceMariie
Summary: She hates light. That's okay, he hates it too. She will never leave the house if he keeps coming to her. That's okay, he'll never stop. All they need is each other-and the occasional cup of dark coffee. OOC, LEMONS. One-Shot.


**A/N:I don't own Twilight. Ooh, we have lemons here, beware.**

**Alice**

_I'm addicted to this feeling._

The feeling I'm talking about is, the one I get after I finish yet another work. I start drawing at the pitch-dark early hours of morning. I usually finish when it gets dark, like evening and like night. I don't like light, and I'm a detail person. It's perfectly logical to me, and to him. He doesn't like light too.

Now that I'm done, I clean up the place a bit, and put away the painting to my storage room. My whole tiny penthouse smells like paint thinner, and the paint itself. It's comforting, in a familiar way. I lean back in my chair and open the blinds, just a bit. It's dark outside, it's safe. The dim streetlight below softly illuminates the snowflakes, and the snow on the ground, already grey and dirty. It's New York. Even snow isn't pure. Not that I mind. I look at the clock on the wall, and rush my eyes back to the window, because I know what I'm going to see. He's literally jumping on the icy pavement because he's not wearing a coat on his light blue shirt, his sleeves are rolled up and he's carrying two paper cups of scolding hot coffee. He's about to have a hypothermia and second-degree burns on his hands. I walk towards the door and buzz him in. The sound of his footsteps against the ridiculously plenty stairs of the apartment is as comforting as the paint smell.

I smile at his wet, shaking, slightly purple form and let him in.

He puts down the coffees and looks at me. We stay silent for a while, then he says "Hi." I say hi too and lead him in to my previous seat by the chimney fire to start unbuttoning his shirt. "Your skin is so cold. You could be dying of pneumonia and you wouldn't even notice."

He smiles at me. "You would."

I manage to strip him out of his wet clothes and go to my bedroom to get a blanket. I get on his lap and pull the blanket over us, and slowly rub my hands up and down his arms in an attempt to warm him, but his hands are fiddling with buttons of my shirt. I raise my brows. "My clothes are perfectly dry." He ignores me and pulls my hands away from his body to place them on my hips, signaling me to take off my jeans. He is intending to get warm by another method.

I am fully naked in a couple of seconds. He pulls me closer to him and as my bare chest contacts his cold torso, we both can feel how it affects my body. He leans back on the couch and puts his hands on my hips as I grind them against his. His eyes kind of roll back and he groans. At that moment, I feel like I am willing to do anything just to please him. I raise my body and lower it in a way that causes an insane surge of pleasure. I move slowly and he moves too, in perfect sync with me. Everytime, he goes deeper and I start to think my body is going to fall apart if we lose touch. As I feel closer and closer to that electrifying release, I lean forward and press my forehead against his, and clutch his arms so tight, I feel my nails digging into his skin. One last thrust and my body collapses onto his and I feel him loosen his grip around my waist, our gasps and screams of pleasure mixing together to be replaced by deep breaths. I lower my head and rest my lips on his collarbone.

He simply says "I love you." and I reply by kissing every inch of his torso and his neck. I never let go of his hair as he never stops moving his hands over my body for gentle little caresses.

After we regain our breaths, we remember the coffees, that are already cold. I suggest "Ice coffee?" and he laughs. I lift the plastic lid off the paper cup and take in the smell and the color. I sigh with happiness "Mmm, dark." "Like your soul," he jokes. To any other girl, that would mean sleeping in separate rooms for a week, but we both know I'm not any other girl, and that's why I'm his. Take it as that's why I'm with _him_ or that's why he loves _me_, doesn't matter. As we fill up on caffeine, I notice that he sends quick glances to the direction of my storage room. I know what he wants:he wants to see the outcome of my day, my painting. He knows I noticed. He knows I'm playing cool. He is practically itching to say something, to ask if he can see it, but he doesn't want to overwhelm me. He knows me, and it's killing him that he can't do anything. I suggest going out of town to visit his sister and my best friend Rosalie tomorrow, to stay there through the weekend. Rosalie lives in a small, rainy place called Forks, where sun rarely shows it's face. He says nothing.

He looks down at his cup, and I can see he's trying so hard to distracts himself. After a while, I feel kind of sorry for him. "Go and look." I say simply. He looks at me for a while, with wide eyes, and jumps up so instantly, his coffee spills everywhere, and he knocks down a chair and an entire bookshelf. "Jasper!" I yell after him whilst trying to pick up the books after him. He's too distracted to hear me. It takes him a while to get back to the living room. "It's beautiful," he says. "I love how..." we talk and talk about the painting for a while. He says he likes the colors. He finds it amazing how through all the haze, there's an obvious contour to the main point. I ask him if I overdid the splashing, and he says it's just perfect. He finds the good points in my picture that even I didn't notice. He helps me write the description of the painting on my website, along with taking a picture of it.

It's getting to that point where the sky is about to start lightening and eventually turn to a bright morning. We end the night the same way we started it;tangled together by the chimney.

**A/N:I decided to turn this into a one-shot. It was intended as a one shot originally, then I got a bit ahead of myself... Sorry.**


End file.
